


take this waltz with its very own breath of brandy and death

by harscrow, wctomyhead



Series: Death Smiles At Us All [2]
Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: ADHD, Alternate Universe - Mob, Gun Violence, M/M, Organized Crime, Prostitution, hints of Fandango/Tyler Breeze, hints of Kevin Owens/Sami Zayn, mob boss!Roman
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-15
Updated: 2016-11-21
Packaged: 2018-08-31 02:41:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8560195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harscrow/pseuds/harscrow, https://archiveofourown.org/users/wctomyhead/pseuds/wctomyhead
Summary: Dean doesn't care how desperate he may sound, there's something about Roman Reigns that is just too much for him to resist. He had one little taste when they first met, and since then he'd been wanting the whole thing. Dean's never seen a man that power is so fit for, and he just wishes to break it in his face and watch him enjoy it.Roman still fools himself that he'd be in control of this, that's why he smiles in the fiery, smashing kiss Dean initiates./// This piece chronologically stands between "Don't get too comfortable, sunshine" and "Big bad handsome man" ///





	1. but it's written in the scriptures

**Author's Note:**

> The mob AU is back, and with a twist! The lovely Puppy right here has hopped on this crazy train as my co-author. I can't thank her enough for everything she's done for me <3  
> We're trying to build things up from the beginning until we get to the point of the story where "Big bad handsome man" takes place. Then we're going to continue from there. You all have no idea what's coming... ;)
> 
> \- Phoenixstein

"What exactly do you see in him, dude?"

Dean shrugs while asking Tyler Breeze the question, before buckling his own leather belt tight. His very revealing denim shorts wrap his ass up just right, making it tempting and ready to be smacked.

Such a pity the man he'd like to get a good tune up from doesn't seem to have that in mind. The fact that Roman has bought him so many drinks in the past few weeks but still hasn't put his hands on him is frustrating, to say the least. Every night is the same: Roman shows up and watches over him like some sort of hungry lion the whole time, offers him the finest Mai Tai he's ever had when his shift's over, then vanishes without a word.

The boss didn't seem so untouchable the first time he rashly approached him. Dean wonders what the hell happened by now, and why he finds himself unable to pull him closer and kiss his smug, elusive demeanor away each time Roman smiles two inches from his face only to disappear in a heart-beat.

Tyler takes a look in the mirror, evening the ends of the red feather boa that's caressing his sleek, pumped chest. It's an accessory he likes to show off in multiple occasions, especially when his wealthy lover promises him he's gonna pay his favorite blondie a visit at the Rabbit Hole. "Besides the fact he's smoking hot, you mean?"

Dean has actually a different concept of 'smoking hot', but there's no need to hurt his friend's feelings. "Uh, yeah, let's just skip the part where you praise his cock for once. You already do it at home all the fucking time." He says, a skeptical grimace rumpling his face.

He's had more than enough of that lately; it's like Tyler deems necessary to always remind him of the three things he's really into: fashion, skin care, and Dango's apparently huge dick. Dean is more for leather jackets and comfortable jeans, couldn't care less about keeping his skin supple, and prefers taking a good cock instead of talking about it. And yet, despite their differences, Breeze makes a decent flat mate.

"Hey!" The blond man snaps back, bobbing his head in a heartfelt way. "Not my fault it's a glorious one!"

"Whatever. So that's it? It all sums up to his cock?"

"He's a cool guy, when you get to know him. He’s more than just his façade, you know, all that famous tango dancer glitz. You wouldn’t believe how interested he is in the fashion industry, almost as much as I am! He opened up a lot with me, and I lost count of how many times he asked me out."

"Like… on a real date?"

"Yeah. For lunch or something like that. But I keep saying no. I don't belong in his world, it would be naïve of me hoping to be something more than a high-class whore."

Dean groans, feeling uncomfortable cheering up his buddy, but willing to try nonetheless. "Listen, I'm no agony aunt so this is gonna be my final word about it. Just do me a fucking favor and go out with your tango dancer. If you want something, and that something wants you back, just take it."

Tyler wrinkles his perfectly shaped nose. "Yeah, I see you're no agony aunt, your advice is kinda basic, man."

Rolling his eyes, Dean opens up a can of beer and takes a sip. It's not cold anymore, 'cause he had to hide it under a pile of clothes in his bag. But still, serves its purpose. "Whatever." He says, his voice made scratchy by alcohol.

"Hey! What are you doing? You know the rules: no drugs and no booze until our shift's over." Tyler warns him, seizing the incriminating can. He's visibly unsure about what to do with it, so he just stands there, holding the Pabst in his hands as if it's a ticking bomb.

"Come ooon, relax! Do I look like a guy who follows all the rules?" Dean nonchalantly takes his beer back, and his grin is the same savage one a little punk would put on right after setting the principal's new car on fire.

"You're gonna get me in so much trouble…" Tyler eyes him with concern, which only makes the other laugh.

"Nah, don't worry. I got this. I got him."

Breeze's chuckle gets lost in the stale air of their changing room. "Don't push your luck too far, Deano. Never forget who you're dealing with. Do wrong and you're dead. You're not the first one who has put his eyes on the boss."

With a light hearted nod and an approving pout, Dean shows he's not surprised by that statement. "Course I'm not, have you seen the man?"

"I'm gonna check on Finn, he said his bodypaint was gonna be awesome tonight." Tyler manages to find the time to snap a mirror selfie before leaving with an instagram model kind of smirk on his chiseled face.

****

High on the podium he shares with Tyler, that night Dean seems to be fucking the cold steel bars to the languid rhythm guiding his moves. He draws attention on himself, luring looks like moths to the flame. He can't see him, but he hopes Roman is somewhere in that faceless crowd.

Dean's moves have the strength of a punch, the grace of a caress, the carnality of a fiery kiss. Dean rips his slinky white tank top, and he's left with those denim shorts sticking to his ass like painting. As soon as the guitar riff bites again, his muscles dart once more and his dangerous dance blazes with lethal beauty. He moves like an animal predator trapped in human skin – his eyes ablaze, his smirk sinking into his watchers' flesh.

As hot breath escapes his mouth, Dean feels heat radiating from his body once his moment's gone. He lets those people down there desire him, consume him, fuck him in their minds. Probably some of them will actually get to do that.

When both him and Tyler are off the stage, Dean realizes that, despite being a stuck-up celebrity in general, Fandango really seems to care about his flat mate. It's in the way he compliments him and holds him into his arms. It looks like love, or affection at least. Not that Dean has much experience with that.

He can read something like "Have you seen the latest Armani Privé collection?" on Fandango’s lips as the man takes off his suit jacket to cover Tyler's glistening shoulders. Chivalry and flattery aren't required when you can afford to pay for sex, and somehow that makes Fandango's attentions more genuine in Dean’s eyes.

"Alright, I'll leave the two of you to this lovey-dovey shit." Dean unceremoniously says, while Tyler is already sticking his tongue down the other man's throat.

Fuck it, though. Maybe it's the heavy sexual vibes in the air, maybe it's the frustration of being skipped over and over again, but Dean suddenly wants to get laid. There must be someone in the whole club willing to spend the night with him. Since Reigns is not there for his usual hit-and-run, Dean may as well consider accepting his first client. It's not like he owes the man anything. Waiting for Reigns to make his move has been a stupid thing to do. He's there to sleep with as many men as possible, nobody said the handsome boss had to get it first.

That's why he decides to smile back to the stranger approaching him with a Dry Martini in his hand. Dean drinks it down quickly, not even savoring a flavor he's not really interested in. The man in front of him is plain looking, kind of pleasing to the eye with his trimmed beard and gentle stare. He must be forty-something, but how's that a problem? In the streets, Dean's been with older men. At least this one's cologne smells decent, he thinks, suddenly close enough to kiss him.

Sooner than he knows, Dean's in some anonymous hotel room, grunting, sinking deeper into the other man's stretched hole. Hand on his neck, he keeps the client down as he asked, and pounds him relentlessly. That rich bastard is so hungry for cock it's embarrassing.

When Dean rolls out the condom and collapses onto the mattress, he's more bored than tired. Sex has never tasted so dull. It barely even tastes like sex, but you can't say no to easy money and a way to sweat your frustrations out.

"You're gorgeous." He's been said, while caressed on the stomach like some sort of tamed exotic animal. That's what he must look like, he guesses: an imported, odd, disposable son of a gun.

Taken aback, Dean simply asks the guy for a cigarette. He quit smoking a long time ago, but keeping something carcinogen in your mouth is always a good excuse not to talk.

"I'm afraid I've got none. My wife smells nicotine a mile away."

****

The Rabbit Hole looks very different in daylight. With only the cleaning staff committed to polish the place, everything's so quiet and empty it's surreal. Dean realizes that as he walks into the management office the following day, smelling cash already. Taking Mr Marling to heaven a bit more than a couple times the night before would now yield him a solid return, way more than he earned last time he exchanged sex for money in the streets. Not bad, for a good old devil like him. Working for Roman Reigns may as well be the best thing that ever happened to him.

He taps on the door, even if it's been left ajar. A single knock, and he's already prying into the room like a little kid.

"Excuse me?" A beautiful young woman asks, lifting her eyes from the register she's consulting. The manager with an iron hand that his flat mates have warned him about sits behind a desk full of piled up documents and well-organized stationery, fiercely on the ball like a lioness, white shades on top of her luscious magenta hair.

"Nice hair. I used to dye mine pink. Dean Ambrose, by the way. 'm here to collect my wage for last night, I was out with a client." He says, skipping where he stands.

The manager leaps to her feet. A shiny, heavy golden pendant bounces on her chest. "I know who you are, I've been watching you."

"I know, I know, I'm very interesting." A proud, goofy smile blooms on his face.

She smiles brightly too, but Dean doesn't notice her knuckles getting pale from the tight grip on the desk edges. "I do have an interest in you, actually. I would have personally enjoyed very much kicking a party crasher out of my club but, lucky for you, I just came back from my vacations. And apparently the Big Dog wants to keep you. So here you are."

"What can I say? He must love me!" Dean shrugs, secretly pleased to acquire that particular information. Reigns wants him to stay.

Sasha Banks – that's what her nameplate says – glosses over the insinuation, much to Dean's disappointment, and sits again. She types something, looking at her computer's screen, her red lips bent in an annoyed pout. "You left with Mr Andrew Marling last night. He paid for 9 hours. If he exceeded, insisting for more time, I must know. Has he required from you something that wasn't agreed beforehand? Have the two of you made sure of engaging in safe sex only?"

"Shit, wait- Can you repeat?"

"Listen to me, Party Crasher." She looks straight into his eyes, and cuts him in half with that gleaming smile once again. Dean starts suspecting that's her murderous grin. "He may have granted you this job out of pity, I don't know, but I'm gonna make you walk the line, you can rest assured of that. I am the Boss here at the Rabbit Hole and you will respect my authority."

"Alright, ma'am." Dean sarcastically takes a bow, dimples and smirk in sight.

"So, let me ask you again. Have you stayed with Mr Marling for more than 9 hours?"

"No."

"Has he asked for extras you didn't talk about before getting into bed?"

"No. Poor fellow was actually ni-"

"Safe sex only? Don't lie to me, we make you all take an HIV test periodically."

"It was absolutely safe."

Sasha leans to the side, opening the strongbox under her desk.

Bothering people is one of the things Dean does best, though, and after so much practice it has come off as a passable recreational pursuit. "Hey! What happens if any of these rich bastards doesn't follow the rules?"

"You are talking to one rich bastard. Here, your 40 percent. 2400 bucks." Sasha slams two stacks of banknotes under Dean's nose.

He makes the mouthwatering amount disappear into the inside pocket of his leather jacket. Yet, he doesn't abandon his purpose of teasing her temper. "You haven't replied to my question."

"I can tell you what happens if any of you pretty guys don't follow the rules."

Dean lapses into a humming, throaty laughter. "I like you, Miss Banks. You're a tough one. But I must warn you, I ain't scared of nothin'. Have a nice day!" He winks, ready to take his leave.

"Wait!" She says, remembering something. "He's waiting for you upstairs, in his office."

That's a surprise, and a pleasant one. She speaks into the intercom and Dean prances his way out of the office, blood delightfully rushing through his veins at the sole thought of meeting Reigns again. He climbs the stairs quickly, knocking at someone else's door for the second time that day.

"Come in!" Roman sounds relaxed, and Dean is already able to picture him sitting there, with that sexy uptight bun, some new tailored suit and a tie to match his eyes. A wonder, truly.

What he sees when he crosses the threshold lives up to his expectations, with the only exception that Roman is standing in front of his desk, in a cloud of light coming from the window at his back.

Dean smiles smugly, stepping closer to that dangerous, striking man. His tranquil breath's like the one of a sleeping beast. "Good morning, sir. Looking good!"

Roman slowly shakes his head, hands sliding into his pockets, incredulous about what he's just heard. There's a substantial discrepancy in Dean calling him "sir", since he broke rules from the very first moment he stepped into the club and still doesn't hesitate flirting. The most serious problem now is that the more Roman thinks of it, the more he's tickled, entertained by the unusual snarky response he's getting from that disheveled guy. Admitting it? That's a whole other story.

"Sit." He says.

"I'd prefer to stand."

"I said, sit. You come to me asking for protection, the least you can do in return is obeying when asked to."

Dean complies, because that's a good point. Sitting in front of a standing Reigns makes it easier for the boss to study his figure, and Dean lets him. The weight of that look presses onto Dean's skin, his right leg bouncing up and down, and fingers tapping on his jeans-covered thighs. He's already passed the examination or he wouldn't be there in the first place, but Roman is obviously still considering if he's been wise or not.

"Are you nervous?"

Surprisingly, there's a warm hint of care in that voice. Dean doesn't get it at first, then realizes that he's moving too much, while Roman must be used to plaster statues not daring to even breathe in his presence.

"I'm not. It's just hard for me to sit and stay still. I've got ADHD." He pauses, "I will listen to you better if I can stand up, walk around, play with your tie... I mean, that's just a suggestion. I'd love to take that tie off."

Roman only does a gesture with his right hand that says "stand up", and Dean does, relieved. The intensity of those eyes is mesmerizing, and Dean's quick to put his fingers on the satin knot around Roman's neck, but the boss hisses a "no".

The other man groans in disappointment then gets closer, chuckling against Roman's lips. In the corner of his mind he's still kind of angry at Reigns for not staking his claim or something like that, but Dean's still willing to let him now. "I won't strangle you, Big Dog. Be damned if I do."

Hypnotic words, costing Roman an effort to stay lucid. "I've been inquiring after you, Ambrose. So you do really come from Helmsley’s playground. It seems like you're not an FBI or police informant, after all."

"You already knew that. You knew I wasn't lying, or you wouldn't have given me the chance to work for you. You wouldn't have sheltered me. Of which, 'm very grateful." Dean keeps talking on the edge of that perfect mouth, his lips skimming over a promise of lechery that he's been chasing after for weeks.

Dean does that, reads Roman like an open book, and the man feels like he's been robbed of all his guns and wrath. He doesn't realize what it is, because it never happened before. "How did your first night out go?" He asks, shifting to another subject.

"Nothing particularly exciting, sir." Dean says, all innocent and not innocent at all.

Again with that epithet. As if Roman isn't struggling already with the imperious need of bending Dean over his desk. "Were you expecting something else?" He asks, his hands softly enclosing Dean's slender waist. His fucking obsessive thought for the last two weeks.

"Someone else." Dean says, his blue blazing eyes full of hope. There's fire where Roman's touching him, so much fire, and he just needs more. He knows Roman does too, he's learned to interpret the changes in a man's breathing.

Roman grins, sweetly intoxicated. "I had to deal with pressing concerns, I couldn't afford distractions."

Dean doesn't care how desperate he may sound, there's something about Roman Reigns that is just too much for him to resist. He had one little taste when they first met, and since then he'd been wanting the whole thing. Dean's never seen a man that power is so fit for, and he just wishes to break it in his face and watch him enjoy it. "I say that you can now."

Roman still fools himself that he'd be in control of this, that's why he smiles in the fiery, smashing kiss Dean initiates. Then his mouth is open against Dean's, and they're gasping and moaning and fuck, fuck, his hands are everywhere he can reach, pulling and scratching and… how can a man be so addictive?

Dean drops to his knees, and all Roman knows is that he misses the contact immediately. His body screams at the absence, but that's just until he feels his hard cock getting stroked by Dean's dutiful hand. Even down there, Dean looks glorious, gorgeous, lit up with pride. Roman feels delightfully privileged just by looking at him, sheen blue eyes and rebel strands of hair all over his beautiful face. He feels a kiss right under his shaft, and he shudders, so damn ready to shove his dick into that disrespectful, tempting mouth.

"No, not here." He groans, somehow, every inch of himself throbbing in need. He can't believe he's doing this, he can't believe he's asking Dean to stop.

"Why not?"

"Because I want to fuck you like you've never been before, and this is not the place to do so."


	2. and it's not some idle claim:

Dean follows Roman downstairs, head buzzing from the unexpected turn of their encounter. He thought he was going to have Roman right then and there, but apparently Reigns has other plans. Dean has been yearning for this so much that he doesn't have any patience left. Shoving Roman against the wall and kissing him again, hard, he growls against his lips. "I don't wanna wait another second."

 

"You will." Says Roman, his forehead bumping gently against Dean's for a moment. They both quiver, hungry for more, and Roman can sense every bit of their desperation in the way they brush against each other. He's used to fighting his deeper instincts - because a man of his status has to - and yet, he feels as if Dean's really testing his resolve. Was there ever another time before when he did get pushed against a vertical surface by another person?

 

"Sir, is everything okay?" A polite voice asks, leading to both of them turning their heads to its source.

 

Dean notices how Roman immediately straightens himself out and clears his throat. "All good, Sami. You can take the sedan back to the house, I'm taking the Ferrari."

 

'That must be his driver', Dean realizes, studying the red-headed young man in front of them. He's got a white gold wedding ring around his finger that really stands out against the black of his uniform. 'Damn, do people still get married nowadays?'

 

"Yes, sir. I'll pick up Cesaro and drive to the house, then."

 

"Excellent. Take care."

 

Sami takes his leave with a small nod, and Dean turns to look at Roman like he's starving. "Let's go, I'll try to be good." 

 

"Why do I find that hard to believe?" Roman chuckles, stealing another kiss. He just has to. Diving into that mouth is addicting, his taste is.

 

"Scouts honor." Dean pants, his tongue sticking out from the devilish smirk on his face.

 

"Were you ever in the scouts?" The other asks, gently pushing him towards the Rabbit Hole's exit.

 

With Roman's hand on the small of his back, Dean feels his chest getting heavy, loaded with burning desire. The boss has a firm yet kind hold. Protective. It sends unusual shivers down his reckless spine.

 

"Nope." Dean smiles as he hears Roman's warm laughter. He almost doesn't seem the kind of guy who would run the mob, and certainly not the guy who's been named Big Dog in the streets and whose name is pronounced with fear and utter respect. But he is, and part of Dean wants to unveil that dark shade of him again, looking at the danger unfold before his eyes while standing to the side of danger itself.

 

"Look at that bad girl." Dean whistles as Roman stops next to a red, slender looking Ferrari and reaches into his pocket to get the keys. That shiny thing of beauty must be more expensive than all the houses Dean's ever lived in.

 

"You're not driving her. Don't even think about it."

 

"Aww, come on!"

 

"You don't know your way to my house."

 

'So that's where we're going!' Dean leans against the car. "So what you're saying is that I might drive her."

 

Roman's hand is on his waist again, gently removing him from the unblemished inner wing of what seems to be his most precious possession. "Absolutely not. Get in." He says, after shutting the alarm off.

 

He's not admitting it, but he may or may not love that car more than one would know. After all, it's his first one, and it came straight from the Maranello factory.

 

Dean raises his hands in defeat but his smirk tells a different story. "Alright, you're the boss." He reaches the door's handle and slides inside the leather scented cabin.

 

Roman puts his hands on the steering wheel like a lover would, and Dean can't help but chuckle. "Am I interrupting something?"

 

The boss gives him a nasty look as he starts the engine, his fists tightening around his baby girl. The Ferrari roars wildly, showing the powerful nature that's under its fancy coachwork.

 

Dean bites back a smirk and lets his hand wander to Roman's thigh. "After we're done you can go back to her, I promise." He can't help himself and laughs.

 

They glide through the city traffic gracefully, visibly drawing lots of attentions to the car. Something Dean has never experienced before. Even touching the interiors of that vehicle feels weird to him, as if he's misplaced, as if he's casually landed where he's never supposed to be.

 

The people he's been staying with at the apartment always talked about how the Reigns' mansion looked like a castle, so Dean isn't surprised when they head toward the coast, out of the maze of streets that is the city centre.

 

"Do you trust me to get in your house?" He asks, arching over the gear shift to reach Roman's neck and plant there a couple of kisses.

 

The boss tilts his head a little, giving Dean more space. "I have nothing to hide."

 

"Rumors say otherwise." 

 

Anything Roman would say in response to that is nipped in the bud by the sudden ringing of his phone. The caller ID says it's Sami, so he presses on speaker. "Hey. Picked up Cesaro already?"

 

"Boss! B-" The communication gets cut off.

 

Roman cringes, shooting a glare at the screen. He calls back, one hand on the wheel and the other on the phone, but the signal appears to be too weak.

 

"Veering off the road is a quick way to ruin your precious Ferrari." Dean teases, still shamelessly brushing his lips on the other man's neck. 

 

Roman pulls to the side of the freeway and gets out of the car without saying a word.

 

Dean gets out of it as well and looks at him pacing up and down. "Is everything okay?"

 

Relief hits Roman's face once he can finally get some signal. "Sami, you were coming in garb-"

 

Behind them, another car suddenly whizzes in the distance. Both him and Dean turn to look at it approaching fast. "Fuck!" It's what Roman manages to hiss as he sees a semi-automatic peek out from the passenger window.

 

Dean instinctively runs behind the Ferrari to shield himself from the bullets, but as soon as he does that, he hears Roman screaming in pain and a thud against the car. "Roman?!" There's panic in his voice, as he goes to check on him and his heart is racing in utter fear.

 

"DRIVE!" It's Roman's desperate order, as he drags himself to the passenger seat while holding his own bleeding arm. 

 

Dean rushes in, his fingers trembling while turning the key. He can feel his own pulse increase savagely as the engine thunders one more time and his foot steps on the gas faster than he can think of that. He has no fucking idea how to drive that monster, he just goes. 

 

Roman pulls out his own gun from the console but before he can even roll down the window and shoot back, his phone rings again. He taps on it with his bloody fingers, and Sami's voice comes out yelling from the speaker. "Boss! There are people following you! Cesaro and I are on our way."

 

"They're fucking shooting, get here NOW. Now, Sami!"

 

Dean's trying not to send the two of them off a cliff, but the Ferrari's steering wheel is so sensitive they keep swerving harshly along the curves. The flying bullets from behind them aren't helping either, especially when he feels that familiar stinging pain of glass cutting his neck and hands.

 

He moans a curse or two through gritted teeth, putting all his resilience on the line to keep driving.

Roman's unloading his Colt 45 on their assailants through a hissing hell of shots, and Dean just wants to keep him down, keep him safe. He catches himself praying under his breath for that.

 

"FUCK! Roman, fucking stay down! Please!"

 

"DRIVE! I know what I'm doing!"

 

Looking at the mirror, Dean could see another vehicle swiftly approaching. "We have another fucking car coming, I don't think you can handle two with one fucking arm!" 

 

Roman turns to look at the second vehicle and closes his eyes for a moment. "It's them." He groans in pain, that sight bringing him at least a hint of ease. He knows Cesaro is such a good sniper he could even reach a moving target. He focuses his attention on the chasers again, just in time to see the driver's brains blow up, covering the car window in a thick, liquid red mess. The assailants' vehicle starts spinning dangerously around until it dives off the cliff.

 

"Fuck." Roman hisses, looking then at his side to see the other man covered in cracked glass and blood. "Dean. Fuck. You're hurt. Pull over, I'm driving." He pants, guilt surging in his chest.

 

"I'm fine. Bullet in his shoulder and he wants to drive. No." Dean's firm voice says, full of adrenaline. "Just tell me where to go."

 

~

 

Once the Reigns' mansion gates open, the Ferrari sadly slides in, its tires scratched, its crimson body riddled with bullet holes. What once was a burnished thing of beauty is now nothing more than a somber wreckage.

 

As Dean stops the car in front of the house, the door quickly opens and two men carefully pull Roman out of it. "I've already called the doc." He can hear the one who must be Cesaro say.

 

"Grab Dean." Roman orders Sami, urgency in his voice.

 

The front door bursts open, a woman rushing her way down the few steps leading to the driveway. "Son!" She whimpers, covering her mouth in disbelief. Tears gather in her concerned eyes, as Roman shakes his head to reassure her. 

 

"I'm fine. I'm fine, mom."

 

He forces himself to smile, because it doesn't matter how bad his arm's aching, his beautiful mother doesn't have to know. 

 

"You're not fine! You're bleeding all over the driveway, Roman. You need Becky to look at you!"

 

"She's on her way here, ma’am." Cesaro says, giving her a courteous nod. 

 

"Thank you, Cesaro. Let's get you cleaned up until Becky gets here, sweetheart. Someone bring me scissors and wet towels." She says in a firm voice to the staff members standing there, waiting for directives.

 

As they all go inside the mansion, Roman feels his body going heavy. Reaching the kitchen, Cesaro carefully helps him sit on the chair as his mom uses the scissors to cut through the shoulder area of his expensive suit. "Jesus, Roman. What happened?"

 

He barely feels the kiss she places on his cold sweat covered forehead before letting out a groan of pain as he feels his mom pressing the wet towel on his wound. "I'm sorry, baby." 

 

Roman grimaces, his eyes wandering to the man that just saved his life. He catches Dean standing on his feet, pulling out pieces of glass from his body like it's nothing.

 

"Stop." He says. "Dean, stop." 

 

"Who's Dean, sweetie?" 

 

"He drove, and saved my fucking life." Roman nods toward the man who's still picking up broken glass from his own skin and for some reason is not looking at him. That makes Roman's stomach coil in concern. Being him a guidance, a protector to his people, worrying is what he does best.

 

"Cesaro, take this." His mother says, letting the Swiss man take over so she can walk up to Dean.

 

"Sweetheart, don't do that. We have a good doctor who's going to take care of you." She puts her hand gently on top of Dean's. "I want to thank you from the bottom of my heart for saving my son's life. My name is Lisa."

 

"No need for the doctor, ma'am. 'm used to doing this."

 

Roman gets up so abruptly that he startles everyone in the room. Except for Dean, whose questioning eyes finally meet his. "You come into this family, you don't deal with this shit alone."

 

"Yes, sir. Any chance I can take a shower first?"

 

Roman is no fool and can sense the annoyance in Dean's flat tone. He decides to repay that with stern coldness. "No. You sit and wait for the doctor."

 

"Roman, the fuck ye doin'? Sit yer arse down!" A young woman walks in, her heavy Irish accent as flashy as her orange hair.

 

"Oh thank god, Becky." Lisa smiles, a sigh of relief escaping her lips.

 

"There are too many lads here, get the fuck out some of ye." She pushes Roman to sit back down, puts her medical bag on the table and starts her examination. "Bullet went through an' through. This is good!" Becky puts a dressing on the wound and gives Roman antibiotics ."Take these. 'Mma stay a few hours, change the bandage." 

 

"Doc, I got glass in my body. Just take them out, I need to take a shower." Dean says impatiently.

 

Becky turns around and eyes Dean. "Sure, lad."

 

The procedure doesn't take long, since he already took most of the splinters out. Dean can feel Roman's gaze weighing on him the whole time, so he thoroughly goes back to ignoring him.

 

"Alright, laddy. Take a shower an' come to me after, we gotta deal with those." Becky exhales, getting rid of the last piece of glass.

 

Dean nods and his eyes meet Roman's, challenging him in a different, hostile way. "Where can I shower?"

 

"Sami, show him." It's Roman's laconic response.

 

Zayn does as he's told, leading the other man to the guest room. "Anything you need should be in there, but you can call if something's missing."

 

As Dean simply nods, the driver decides he better leave him to his privacy. "Alright, so. I'm going."

 

Dean stands there in the middle of the guest room for a while, a million spinning thoughts unceasingly racing through his mind. What the hell just happened a few moments ago? He never felt so useless in his life. He was – is, he is – a fighter, and yet that shooting made him feel so… unprepared, and that makes a venomous feeling swell into his lungs. Anger towards himself.

 

Taking his shirt off, he looks at the cuts that were caused by the glass, and he closes his eyes to escape the dreadful flashbacks from his childhood. The horror and shock in Roman's eyes when Dean accidentally let slip that he knows how it feels to have glass imbedded into his skin are haunting him, and they shouldn't. He doesn't want to think about it, he doesn't want to think about anything.

 

Dean is only comforted by the solitude of this very moment, his short-lived getaway.

 

Taking his pants off and opening the bathroom door, he doesn't even grant himself the time to appreciate how beautiful the room looks before quickly getting in the shower stall and fiddling with the handles. His legs feel clumsy, unstable, so he puts his hand on the wall, his body dragging him down to the bath's floor. 

 

"The fuck just happened?" He mumbles to himself, water running down his weary shoulders. 

 

"Fuck."

 

He repeats that word over and over again quietly until it loses its meaning.

 

~

 

Roman's sitting in what was his father's armchair, puzzling over the event that just occurred. The Reigns family has not been targeted in a while, a cozy circumstance that made him lower his guard and almost got him killed. If it wasn't for Dean Ambrose. 

 

Truth is, Roman got lucky. For him to die bloody is an ever-present possibility, and he can't believe his own imprudence. He could have lost everything in just a moment, the time for a bullet to get through his heart. His right fist tightens angrily at the sole thought of his mother crying on his grave.

 

Suddenly, he owes Ambrose – a man who's not paid to watch his back – his whole life and the integrity of his empire. He never had such a debt with anyone before, and that reminds him of the transience of his position. He can fool himself all he wants, but at the end of the day he'll never be a common businessman. He just has to look at his hands to see them covered in blood, and out of the window to catch sight of the buzzards.

 

Cursing at the bullet hole in his shoulder, Roman calls for his driver.

 

The young man shows up immediately. "Gotta go, Kev. Talk to you later." He says to the man he was talking to, then slips his phone back into his pocket. "Sir?"

 

"Make sure Ambrose is doing fine. See if he needs anything."

 

"Yes, sir." Sami gives Roman a nod and turns around to walk to the guest room.

 

Compassionate as he is, he feels bad for Dean. You could see it on his face that he wasn't prepared for what happened, but somehow the man still managed to not fall apart. Nobody can be prepared for the life of the mob, Sami's the first to know.

 

He looks at the door in front of him and raises his hand to knock on it.

 

"Mr. Ambrose? Mr. Ambrose, it's Sami. Sami Zayn, Roman's driver?" He says in a gentle voice, but there's no answer.

 

He presses his ear against the door and hears water running, which makes him realize Dean must still be in the shower.

 

"Mr. Ambrose?" Sami knocks a little louder this time but still, no answer.

 

Now he's starting to worry. 'Come on, Dean. Please, answer.'

 

With the fear that something's wrong with their guest, Sami fishes out a set of keys and opens the door.

 

"Dean?" He calls, trying to acquaint the other man of his presence. "It's Sami, I'm coming in. Boss just wants to make sure you're okay, I don't mean to pry."

 

Judging by the sounds coming from the bathroom, the water's still running. A quick look around and Sami spots a bloody shirt and pants on the floor.

 

"Dean!" He raises his voice, just one more time. All of a sudden, the water finally shuts down. Sami can literally hear himself releasing a breath he didn't notice he was holding.

 

Soon enough, Dean comes out of the bathroom with a towel around his waist. "You can tell him I'm fine." He says, bluntly, his wet hair sticking to his forehead.

 

Sami sighs, because it's clear that Dean's lying to him and there's no use in fighting about it. He has no right to. "Well, we're having dinner soon and you really do need to bandage those cuts."

 

The other man barely bothers to look his way, but Sami is quick at giving him a tiny encouraging smile. "I have to say, you did really good today, really brave. You saved Roman's life."

 

Dean only gives him a nod, which leaves Sami no doubt about the current state of things. 

 

"Alright, I'm going to tell Roman you're okay." He gives Dean a wave before awkwardly turning his back to leave the room.

 

"Is your wife okay with what you do for a living?" Dean asks.

 

A question Sami didn't see coming. He gazes at his wedding ring, proudly. "Husband. And yes he is."

 

With no further pleasantries, he goes back to his boss to find him visibly torturing his own conscience. Meeting his concerned stare, Sami can't tell him anything but the truth. "He's not okay, sir. I think he might be in shock and trying really hard to hide it."

 

Roman nods slightly, he should have known. He never meant to rob Dean of his glow, but he can easily put the blame on himself for that. Ambrose isn't one of his soldiers, he came to him for protection and he fucking managed to endanger his life.

 

"Thank you, Sami. For everything. You can go have some rest."

 

"I'm just glad you're still with us, sir. Roman. Kevin was worried too."

 

A faint, grateful smile unclenches Roman's face, and Sami smiles back before parting to seek a comfortable bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, guys. You can yell at us.


	3. you want it darker

Roman's standing in front of Dean's door, breathing slowly in and out. He only has to knock, open up and check on the guy. Three easy steps to clear his conscience. And yet, the sense of gratitude and responsibility he's burdened with suggests he should do so much more.

 

His knuckles tap the door, and he just waits for Dean to let him in. Those few seconds taste like the calm before the storm. Roman's not used to waiting for another's will. Except when it comes to business, when he has to build and bend his partners' ambitions to match his own.

 

Unexpectedly, the door bursts open on Dean talking, irritation in his voice. "Sami, I told you. I'm fi- oh."

 

Their eyes lock together and none of the two men says anything for what feels like forever.

 

"Gets shot in the shoulder and still manages to look good." Dean scoffs, shaking his head at the man that even with comfy clothes, a pale face, messy ponytail and a sling on, looks like a dream. "Aren't you sorry we didn't end up fucking in your office?"

 

Dean gives Roman a knowing smirk as he uses one of his arms to lean against the door frame. "Hope you don't mind me taking whatever was in the closet, didn't think I would stay the night."

 

The sight of a bloody towel abandoned on the floor makes Roman's jaw clench. "You're still bleeding. Doc's waiting for you."

 

"Dealt with worse things." Dean shrugs. "Your car, I- I could've…"

 

"Doesn't matter. It was just that, a car. Your cuts need to be taken care of." 

 

"It's not even painful, I'm fine."

 

Roman never had to, but he still did his best to be accommodating with Dean, considering what they went through and how boldly the man has managed to save them both. Becoming aware of the way his concerns are just unceremoniously being thrown back at him, though, the boss' temper starts growling in the distance, waking from its sleep. "You're in my house." He points out. "Would you mind just doing what you're told for once?"

 

"No. Just because I'm your whore doesn't mean you get a fucking say about what I do to my body. Only I get to do that." Dean snaps back, his tone shifting from seemingly calm to vaguely vexed.

 

Roman can't believe his words are being twisted like that. "That's not what I meant. I need to make sure you're okay. And I don't believe you when you say you are."

 

"Why do you care? Is it because we were going to have sex? Do you feel guilty? Because this shit wasn't your fault." Dean's on the verge of yelling.

 

"Enough." Roman hisses, more to himself than anything. He walks in and closes the door behind his back, just to turn then to the other man and pin him against the wall with one arm only, his forearm pressed against Dean's throat. He's never been so frustrated at him, he can feel his nerves shattering and his frantic pulse clouding his mind. His shoulder suddenly hurts like hell, and that must show in his eyes. "You don't get to talk to me like that. I have been trying to thank you, sheltering you in my own home. Don't get all flirty on me just because that's easier than actually trying to respect me, and then spit in my face the next minute."

 

Dean closes his eyes, tired, and brings his hands to Roman's arm, gently trying to loosen his choke-hold. Roman can literally see his walls crack, the tension between them begging to die.

 

As the boss steps back, in a daze because of his own act, Dean can take a deep breath. "I fucking respect you, and I am thankful. I just- I was ready to have sex with you, not fucking deal with flying bullets." He admits.

 

Dean's quick to hide them inside his pockets, but Roman still notices the way his fingers were trembling, moving, clutching the fabric of his jeans. Roman leans closer, carefully, already regretting his previous, rougher approach. His right hand skims over Dean's stomach, brushing past his hipbone, caressing the small of his back. "Sleep with me, tonight."

 

As good as those attentions feel to his spent body, Dean has to study the man in front of him, and realise this is his boss. Getting under people's skin is what he does best but this simple request from Roman makes him stop. When does the flirting end? Is this flirting? Roman's messing with his head.

 

"Don't fucking pity me, man." He moves away from him. "Had hundreds of cage matches, I'm used to the violence. My whole fucking life, I've been used to it. I don't need your fixing. I can get through this night alone."

 

Roman grits his teeth at the sole mental image of the barbaric fights Dean must have thrown himself into. He starts wondering how many scars may be scattered all over his body, and how many sheets he must've soaked in blood. He doesn't know why it affects him so much, but he has to acknowledge that feeling.

 

"Mine isn't pity. I'm asking you to join me in my bed because I'd miss you if you don't."

 

Dean's face brightens at that. "You'll miss me?" He asks, softness in his voice.

 

Roman's fingers trace his cheek, the corner of his lips. "You won't?"

 

"Didn't say that." Dean's whispering now, his peaceful breath caressing Roman's wrist. "Wouldn't want you to be sleepless because you miss me, and we both could use some rest."

 

Roman's warm smile anticipates an even warmer, tender kiss. His heart pounds faster as Dean's mouth goes lax, and they both let the pressure perish in throaty moans.

 

"Doc first, alright?"

 

Dean just nods. "Lemme, uh-" He grabs the jacket that was simply thrown on the bed, the jacket that still holds the money he earned the night before.

 

As they both leave the room and go to Becky, she's already waiting impatiently for them. "Geez, lads! Thought ye fucking passed out on meh!" She utters, hands planted on her hips.

 

She carefully grabs Dean's wrists and pulls him towards herself to take care of his injuries. "Take those painkillers, forgot to give 'em to ye." She says, tossing a bottle to Roman.

 

She cleans and puts some band-aids on Dean's cuts, a focused expression tensing her gracious Irish features. "There! Think ye lads need some rest now."

 

"Thanks, Becky. Drive safe, and tell Sasha that Dean is taking a week off."

 

"Will do, boss."

 

"Wait, what?" Dean suddenly has a few questions to ask. 

 

Roman's reproaching stare is accompanied by a sigh. "Just until your cuts are fully healed."

 

"No! Not that, how do- Are they...?" Dean gestures toward Becky, causing her to have a laugh.

 

"Aye!" She nods, cheerfully. "Sasha's my girl. Guilty as charged."

 

"Can't see why she's so angry, she has such a nice doctor for a girlfriend." Dean frowns, legitimately confused by the situation.

 

"We're a bit nosey, aren't we? Where did ye find him, Roman?"

 

~

 

In the aftermath, fatigue kicked in very hard, so much that even sitting in the kitchen seemed to be arduous for both of them. Roman eventually requests dinner to be brought to his room and decides to fulfill the silent pleading in Dean's eyes by taking him upstairs. They make their way to his bedroom through marble and art and pottery, each step of the way making Dean feel like he's walking in a place he doesn't belong to. But he's too tired to indulge in his own sense of inadequacy, so he tries to silence that by staying close to Roman. He wants to touch him, but he's standing by his injured side and doesn't know how to. Dean needs something to do with his hands, so he just ends up crumpling his leather jacket until they get to the biggest bedroom he's ever entered. High-ceilinged walls enclose a space made of white and comfort and wealth. It looks way more contemporary than the rest of the house, but sumptuous nonetheless.

 

Roman points at the king size bed, and Dean goes sitting at the edge of it just to surrender soon enough to the mattress' embrace. The duvet has a good, fresh scent that almost cradles Dean to sleep if it weren't for the staff's arrival.

 

Roman gives a tiny smile at the sight of them bringing in food for possibly eight people, rather than two. His mother must be worried about them, which is understandable. "Send mom my thanks."

 

The staff members nod respectfully before leaving the two men to their privacy.

 

He looks encouragingly at Dean, who clearly doesn't even know where to start from.

 

"Eat whatever you want, mom's used to cooking for ten armies." Roman doesn't even feel hunger and he's sure the same goes for Dean, but they need to eat anyway to keep their strength up.

 

Another knock on the door interrupts them before they can even start picking one of those plates.

 

"It's us, man."

 

Roman recognizes his cousin's Jey voice, so he tries to get up but Dean stands before he does. "Let me." He drags himself to the door to open it. "He's here." Dean raises his hands in defense as he moves away from the threshold to let the twins in.

 

"We rushed here as fast as we could and left Naomi at the casino. The hell happened?" Jimmy cuts short, eyeing his cousin's shoulder with concern.

 

Roman shakes his head, anger boiling slightly under his skin. "We've been followed since we left the Rabbit Hole. Sami tried to warn us but it was too late. And I got hit in the shoulder like a fucking rookie." He's overwhelmed by his broken pride for a moment. Then he catches sight of the man he owes so much, still standing near the door. He asks him to approach with a wave of his hand. "Dean saved my life by driving as the devil. Then Cesaro took them out."

 

Jey pats Dean's back, gratitude filling his eyes. "We won't forget this."

 

"Want me to take care of things until you heal up?" Jimmy asks Roman, as his second in command.

 

"I don't… know."

 

Dean moves closer, stepping calmly next to the boss. He has that need again – to touch him – and this time he does, putting one patched up hand on his shoulder, his fingers curling to fondle Roman's neck. "You're in no shape to run your business. Take tomorrow to rest. We can both use a day to breath."

 

Roman wants to close his eyes, get lost into that touch.

 

"Yeah, man. I can take over for a few days. No sweat. We're gonna find out who did this and make that motherfucker pay." Spat through his grilled teeth, Jimmy's threat sounds very convincing.

 

"Alright then. Make me proud, but don't be reckless." The boss concedes, reaching out to his cousins. They both bumps their fists against Roman's.

 

"Always, uce."

 

"Sleep tight, man."

 

After the twins leave, Dean realizes he's been caressing Roman's neck for a while now, and he slowly retracts his hand to take place in front of him again. He hasn't the mental lucidity to ask himself what the hell he's just done, but there's no regret lingering in the back of his mind and that will have to do.

 

They both keep their silence while nibbling here and there, and that soon makes Dean's whole body itch. "How's the shoulder?" He knows that they're both exhausted, but if they're going to stay in the same room together and stay silent, he might go even crazier. "Your mom seems like a nice lady." His mind is thinking of a million other things, his leg bouncing up and down under the table. "The twins are interesting."

 

Roman finds himself holding his breath, bewildered by all those observations and the sudden urgency to know more about ADHD, or just what goes on in Dean's head. "Shoulder's getting kind of numb." 

 

He pushes his chair back and stands up slowly, offering him his palm. "Come here."

 

Dean takes the offer along with Roman's hand, and lets him lead them both towards the bed. "Silence was killing me, man."

 

Roman cracks a tiny smile. "I'm not much of a talker when I've got too much on my mind. I'm sorry."

 

"That's okay. Not everyone's a talker, know what I'm saying?"

 

"Seems like you are."

 

"That a problem? Can't really stop it." 

 

The other man shakes his head, resting his forehead against Dean's. "Don't, then."

 

"Yes, sir." Dean whispers, taking a step back and pulling his shirt over his head.

 

Roman lets his own gaze meander all over his chest, quivering at the sight of the constellation of scars painted on Dean's body. He feels so helpless, so sorry and so angry. He cannot understand why Dean did that to his own living skin, and that makes him frustrated.

 

"Worst ones are on my back." Is the other man's raspy response as he turns to show him the two long raised marks he wears as it's nothing. He feels Roman's fingertips tentatively, gently skimming over his scars, and that's when he closes his eyes, at ease. "Patched me up and had another match the next day, wasn't too bad."

 

Roman's sigh is followed by a kiss Dean won't ever forget, placed on the biggest scar that traverses his shoulder blade. He can feel the ghost of Roman's touch imprinting itself on his skin, like a flame fizzling out on his flesh. Dean's hand travels to rest on the one Roman's caressing his waist with. 

 

Dean turns around to face Roman, their silent stare reminding them of what could've happened if only bullets didn't get in the way. "Take your painkillers." Dean suggests, a smirk on his face, encouraging Roman with a quick peck on his lips.

 

The boss giggles, as a "Ah, yessir!" jokingly leaves his mouth. He takes his meds under Dean's serene gaze, then they step toward the bed, finally sliding under the duvet.

 

Dean switches off the light and tries to adjust himself to the long-forgotten sensation of sleeping next to someone he really wants to be with. Much to his surprise, Roman pulls him closer, and Dean finds shelter against his chest. That man is built like a god, he can feel it under his fingers as he clings on to his torso. Dean doesn't want to stop and think about what he's getting himself to, he's way too tired for that. Right now, all that matters is how Roman's warmth feels. Good, that's how it feels. Fucking good. 

 

"‘Night." Roman mumbles, with a delicacy Dean would have never guessed could belong to a mobster.

 

~

 

The following morning, Roman is first to open his eyes because the pain in his shoulder hits him too hard, his body calling for painkillers. He looks to his side to see the back of the man that saved his life, and he doesn't have the heart to wake him up too. At least one of them won't be sleep-deprived.

 

Roman bites back a pained groan as he slowly gets up and grabs the bottle of pills on his nightstand, then goes to the bathroom to wash up. 

 

He knows that he probably should rest up, and that moving around after getting shot the day before isn't the smartest choice, but he's not the type of person to stay in bed all day. Going to the kitchen to have some coffee, he finds his mother sitting there, drinking her own while reading a book. 

 

The loving matriarch looks up from the pages and jumps on her feet. " _Amore mio_! 1 What on earth are you doing? Go have some rest! You should be in your bed."

 

"Mom... It's ok, I left Jimmy in charge. Shoulder woke me up, I don't think I can sleep now." He grabs his cup of coffee and takes a long sip. "But see? I'm resting."

 

"Don't sass me, young man. Jimmy told me and I agree, you're in no shape to take care of business right now." She taps the seat next to her and waits for her son to get there, taking a sip of coffee and trying to conceal the smile a certain thought brings to her face. "Where's your friend? Dean, right?" 

 

Roman rolls his eyes as any son would do when sensing a very specific kind of curiosity in their mother's voice. "He's still sleeping. And he's not really a friend."

 

At the new information, she surely can't hide her happy smile. "Sleeping in your room? Well if he does that he certainly isn't really your friend. Well, tell me everything." 

 

"He came to me asking for protection. He angered…" Roman hesitates to pronounce the name of the family that inflicted so much suffering on theirs. "Helmsley."

 

He can see her jaw clenching at the mention of him. "I hope he made him suffer." She says, pride in her voice.

 

"I think Dean would love to tell you about it, mom." 

 

"So he did? Good. _Che il diavolo se lo porti_. 2" She curses, her Italian accent growing edgier. "What is Dean doing now? Where's he staying?"

 

"Working at the Rabbit Hole. He's been sharing a flat with other dancers." 

 

"Do they even cook something over there? Dean's so skinny. These boys nowadays don't even know how to make some good trenette al pesto. You teach him, Roman!"

 

"Mom, I'm not his- Mom, no."

 

"Then I'll go teach all the boys down there how to cook."

 

The young man shakes his head and places a kiss on her cheek, moved by his mother's genuine interest in his workers' health. Some would say he inherited that trait from her.

 

"You should've told me there's someone new in your life."

 

"It's not like that. I barely know him."

 

"But you clearly like what you see." She ponders. "A mother knows."

 

"I'll go ask him what he wants for breakfast." He cuts off, suddenly remembering the importance of morning meals.

 

"Fine, I get the hint." She sighs, arching her brow. "I just want my son to be happy."

 

Roman's lips touch her forehead gently, and he leaves the kitchen with a silly grin on his face. Which goes away as he catches Dean furtively descending the main row of stairs. He's putting his jacket on, obviously intending to get away from there. A realization that makes Roman's stomach twist. "Hey!" He says, rushing toward him, resolved on holding him there a little longer.

 

The moment he rose from bed, Dean has figured he has no reason left to stay at this beautiful mansion and should go back to the apartments above the Rabbit Hole. It wasn't part of his plan getting caught by Roman, though. He intended to sneak off as silently as possible. "Good morning, sir." He smirks nonetheless, inexplicably delighted by the way Roman leans closer for a kiss that tastes like coffee and caring. 

 

"Where do you think you're going, sunshine?"

 

"Back to the apartment, sir." 

 

"And you seriously thought you could get past security? Also, who would've drove you back in town?"

 

"I'm very resilient. Just because I ruined a car yesterday doesn't mean I don't know how to drive one."

 

"You would have borrowed one of mine?"

 

"I didn't think that far ahead but probably."

 

"Come on, you must be hungry right now. You can grab something for breakfast, then I'll have someone drive you back."

 

"Your lovely mom is going to kill me if I don't, right?"

 

There has to be some magic in Roman's chuckle, Dean is willing to bet. 

 

"I can't say that she won't."

 

"Let's go, then. I better be a gentleman and say hi."

 

Roman accompanies Dean to the kitchen where Lisa is still reading. The guest studies her now composed figure, finding her presence vaguely calming. He can spot a good mother when he sees one, and she may or may not remind him of his own. For a moment, it's like he can see her smile on Lisa's face.

 

"Good morning, Dean. Have you slept well? Are you hungry? How are your hands?"

 

"Morning, ma'am. Yes, not really and they're fine."

 

"Have at least one of these lemon tarts, would you?" 

 

"Thank you, ma'am, but I-"

 

"Or you can have these other pastries." She gestures toward the tray in the middle of the table. "A little bit of sugar won't kill you, son."

 

"I take my coffee with a lot of sugar." 

 

"Suit yourself, then. Sugar's over there." 

 

~

 

As Dean leaves the kitchen after breakfast, he still feels like he's uninvited in this castle of a mansion, full of people coming back and forth while he's the odd man out. 

 

"This is so weird." He mumbles quietly, looking around the amazing Reigns house.

 

"What's that?"

 

Dean turns around to see Roman smiling at him. The boss got shot the day before and there's some discomfort in his face, and yet every time Dean gazes upon him the man still looks as power's sewed up inside of him. It still feels like those high, luxurious walls would crumble if Roman did.

 

"This place, I'm not used to giant manors." Dean shrugs. "Who's driving me back to the club? I mean, I could drive myself if I had a car."

 

He feels like he should go back to where he belongs, the whorehouse. A chipped piece like him doesn't fit in the land of kings.

 

"Before we do that, I wanna show you something." Roman delicately puts his hand on Dean's lower back, and he finds himself indulging into the heat of his boss' touch a little too much.

 

"I'm starting to think you don't want me to leave." Dean says, but the smirk on his face doesn't last long. "Look, I appreciate the bed, man. But I don't see why I should stay here more than I need to, you know what I'm saying?" 

 

"I don't intend to hold you hostage here. Just know that the man that saved my life is welcome in my home any time."

 

"Thanks, man. Let's hope next time I come here it'll be for sex and without bullet wounds." Dean chuckles. "What did you want to show me?" 

 

"Follow me outside."

 

The back of the house looks over a green profusion of gardens, to which the two men access through a lemon grove. Roman leads the way under the wooden arbor the trees laden with fruit cling to. From the two parallel rows of plants, golden and scented treasures hang peacefully in all their plumpness. 

 

At the end of that trail, a wrought-iron gate opens on what seems to be a cemetery. Dean raises an eyebrow as he sees graves.

 

"I don't think this is where you take someone on the first date, man." He jokes, but he quickly drops that tone when Roman stops in front of a tombstone that takes all the attention by the name engraved on it alone. Dean wishes he could take his humour back as he realizes that the man buried there has to be Roman's father. "Fuck. I- I didn't mean to, uh-"

 

Roman's sternness doesn't falter as he speaks without taking his eyes off the marble. "This is my old man. Sika. I assume you know how he died, who did it. You must have heard in the streets, and that's why you came to me when you angered him."

 

Dean stills, his whole body freezes before he can manage to take a step back, away from Roman. Everyone on the streets knows how it happened, people say they could hear the cries of a woman from the other side of the world. And yes, Dean used that knowledge to his advantage when he came to Roman, knowing that his chances of getting out of the lion's den alive were high if he just said that magic word. "So you used sex to lure me here and… what? Strangle me? Put a bullet between my eyes?" He asks, wondering how much fight Roman still has within his worn out body, and how many chances he has of getting away with both his wrath and all the fucking security gathered at every entrance. People say the worst part is how you don't even notice how swiftly and quietly Roman Reigns can end you until he's smiling upon you, and then you know it's done.

 

The boss does indeed grin, and that's when Dean's heart starts beating fast, crawling up his throat. He's ready to do whatever it takes to survive one more time, he already sees himself punching Roman's injured shoulder and running for his life, again. Will he ever stop running for his life? He really thought he has.

 

As Dean tighten his fists, ready to go, Roman's head perks up and he finally looks at him seemingly bemused as to why the other man would think of such a possibility. "For real?"

 

Dean nervously gulps, the chance that Roman might pull a gun on him is already making him twitchy. 

 

"I am not going to off you. That is not why I brought you here."

 

"Sure doesn't look like it."

 

"You've slept into my bed. Do you really believe I want to kill you?"

 

"Does it matter what I believe?"

 

There's just so much Roman can take, along with the indelible sense of guilt that he's been carrying around since the moment he's seen Dean bleed for him. Grief strangles his generous soul at the defensive, attentive glance the other man's casting on him. Like he's just some butcher. "You are smart, Dean. That makes me think you can sense when people lie to you. You asked me to trust you the moment you walked into my club, and I did. Do the same for me, now."

 

Dean's silence doesn't give away much, but the hard look he gives Roman can tell he's planning his next move very carefully. "You're right. Look, I thought the best thing to do was going to the person that hated him the most. That was you. I know what it's like to lose a parent, so I can relate to your rage."

 

"I'm not condemning you for making that choice. It was a good call." Roman owns up to it. "Who did you lose?"

 

"My Mom." Dean doesn't look at him as he says that, he doesn't want to answer questions that will just make his heart miss his mother even more.

 

"I'm sorry about that. You must have really loved her."

 

"Why did you bring me here?" He cuts off, still on the brink of slipping away. Running faster than he ever did before. It only takes a good start. 

 

"Just wanted to come clean about… how I felt, when all of this started." Roman gestures at his own house, referring to the dangerous life all that splendor came with.

 

"Young prince taking over for his father too soon. Why is it so important for you to show me this?"

 

"Because I wasn't ready back then, as you're not ready now. And yet, I'm still here, more powerful than ever."

 

"Man, I was born ready."

 

"You don't have to do that…"

 

"Do what? Be a badass?" Dean smirks, this time in a dimly bitter way.

 

"Lie to me. You told me you would have never lied to me. Remember?"

 

The confident smile on Dean's face drops as he raises his hand to rub his neck furiously, doubt striking hard. "I'm trying, I know what I said. I'm not used to this friendly-family shit you've got going on here. I don't belong in this mansion."

 

"You're changing the subject."

 

"Am I?" 

 

Roman is desperate for them to stop colliding like that. "Yes, you are. You're hiding yourself behind an excuse."

 

"You gonna analyze me, Doctor Reigns?" Dean chuckles, venom slipping through his teeth. "To hell with that. What do you want from me? Do you want me to cry on your shoulder and tell you how much that shoot out got to me? Fuck you, man. I'm not going to be one of those people that wrap themselves around your tough chest and beg for a hug."

 

Roman is taken aback. This is not the outcome he had imagined while thinking of opening up to Dean in an attempt to offer some comfort. He let his helping hand reach too far, and the other man is clearly slapping it away. Any other time he'd react differently, but he's in debt to the guy standing in front of him, so he has to swallow back how hurt he feels. "I'll cut it short, because you're clearly not comfortable with this. You're still the one that saved my life, and I owe you protection, which means you're part of all of this now. I wanted to show you that even if things can get scary around here, you get over it. You adapt and survive. Believe it or not, that's it."

 

Dean takes a deep breath, his hands twitching as he starts walking, moving around. "I appreciate what you're doing for me, I do." He exhales, cracking his knuckles. "But it's maddening to me that you think I'm scared. This shooting made me feel like all the punching and all the knowledge I had meant nothing, and I didn't like that."

 

"I get it, but what I meant still stands. I already know how brave you are, I've witnessed it with my own two eyes."

 

Roman says nothing more as he offers his hand once again, looking at Dean in a way that doesn't make him waver for long. There has to be honesty in those beautiful eyes staring at him expectantly.

 

"I know I can be a pain in the ass to deal with, man. Thanks for caring. And not killing me."

 

Dean should've known better, he came to this man for protection because he knew what Roman stood for. The Big Dog may have sharp teeth, but his word is sacred. So he lets his palm meet Roman's, with a silent promise to trust him. What kind of killer would hold his victim like he's doing now, enfolding Dean softly with his sound arm? The mere thought that he could find Death into the warmth of such a sincere embrace is wiped off completely as Dean takes Roman's face in his hands to kiss him. Dean can feel him smiling against his lips, his fingertips caressing his back, and he realizes he never felt so safe. No matter what tomorrow brings, he doesn't regret coming to the young Reigns. He even smells good. So much that Dean may find himself getting addicted to it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Amore mio: Italian for "(my) love"  
> 2\. Che il diavolo se lo porti: Italian for "May the devil take him"
> 
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> ____________________________________________________________________________________________
> 
> Hey, everybody!  
> We're hoping you enjoyed this, we had so much fun writing this together!  
> Disclaimer: Any future angst is totally not my fault, no matter how much my amazing co-author tells you otherwise. Even if it is my fault.  
> See you next time, loves. 
> 
> -Puppy.
> 
> ____________________________________________________________________________________________
> 
> Beware of Puppy right here. She may be lovely, but she's also Satan. Jokes aside, I'm so lucky I have her <3  
> Also, I'm very thrilled because I can finally put my Italianness to use! If you have any question about Italian customs and whatnot, feel free to ask.  
> I'm so proud of this first piece Puppy and I have written together, and I'm already looking forward to bigger, better things ;) 
> 
> -Phoenixstein


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